


summer

by alismithpdf



Series: seasons [2]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daphné leaves Basile and lives her best life, F/F, Lesbian Daphné, that life involves fruit and ugly statues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-24 09:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20905580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alismithpdf/pseuds/alismithpdf
Summary: Daphné drinks smoothies and buys a saxophone and meets the new year with a kiss





	summer

**Author's Note:**

> this is technically related to 'spring' but you don't need to read that for this to make sense

There are a lot of things she isn’t proud of, but the relief she felt, overwhelming relief in the purest sense of the word, when she ended things with Basile and admitted to the world, her friends, herself, that she doesn’t have any interest in men, isn’t nearly as high on the list as it should be. She knows it should be. She broke his heart, caused pain, and disappointed people, but it was also the first free breath she took. Her ribs cracked open, lungs free, and her spirit expanding into that space, growing growing growing into what she could be. 

It was terrifying. It was far from perfect. It might be the best year of her life.

And so it’s hard to feel guilty and awful and sad even as she knows from their shared friends that Basile has surgically attached himself to a couch and various forms of comfort food and alcohol. He goes through that, and she goes out and drinks smoothies (pineapple and mint, banana and rhubarb, mango and coconut) and buys new face masks in bright, lurid colours, and raids thrift shops with Alexia and enjoys herself in a way which karma might punish her for later. But it doesn’t matter, because she can breathe. She’ll take whatever karma wants to throw at her. It’s worth it. 

Roughly a month after the fallout Alexia gathers everyone for karaoke and drinks and those oddly delicious bar sweet potato fries. Stuffed into a too-small table with a steady supply of long island iced teas and most of her favourite people close by is one of her preferred ways to spend her nights and like that, happy and buzzed and inspired, as always, by Alexia’s apparent unwavering confidence, it doesn’t take her long to join the queue and take the stage to sing. Then she sees her. With her own friends, in her own life, but looking at Daphné and she’s _ smiling. _ And Daphné has long since grown out of believing in love at first sight, but there’s something there, she’s sure of it. Bright sparks in her mind that simply manifest as _ oh. _

Oh. 

It’s still a bit of a novelty, being able to admit to herself how pretty women are, to look and appreciate and not following it up with guilt and shame and embarrassment. And this woman is _ beautiful _, even under the shaky lights of the venue, even at a distance. With dark hair and dark clothes but sparks of colour, bundles of multi coloured bracelets and yellow lipstick, Daphné can’t help but think of fairy lights. The redhead next to her nudges her and whispers something that makes her grin wider and nudge back. A small moment between friends that makes Daphné realise she’s reached the point of actively staring at them, at her, and quickly averts her eyes elsewhere. She finishes the song, an old fanciful love song her mother adores, and sits back down, only glancing back at the mystery woman twice. And the woman. Well. She was looking back. 

When she slides back into her seat Alexia’s curious eyes rake over her face, clearly doing some amateur detective work as she chews on a straw and lets Imane weave part of her hair into a complicated braid. "Girl you are _ blushing _. What did I miss?" 

There it is. Daphné smiles, a little nervously she knows, and bites her lip. "You didn't miss anything. I just - saw someone, is all. When I was singing."

Alexia’s dark eyebrows immediately jump and her mouth curls in obvious delight. "You saw someone. Who is she?" 

"I don't know. But she's," as subtly as possible Daphné gestures in mystery woman's direction, "over there. The brunette, sitting next to the red head."

Not concerned about stealth at all, they all crane their heads in the woman's direction. Because she’s sitting next to him, Daphné can feel when Eliott perks up a little and makes a happy noise when he spots her. 

"Oh, I know her."

"You do?" she asks, going for casual but knows all of her hesitant hope bleeds through.

"Yeah that's Amélie. We met at uni. Do you want me to introduce you?" 

Daphné feels her eyes grow wide. She bites her lip. She could, but tonight, when she’s tipsy and unprepared with the weight of her friends watching? “I, um, yes, just, maybe not now? I’m not sure if ready to, uh -” 

“Of course,” Eliott interrupts kindly. “Just let me know.”

It takes her about a week to let him know, to shuffle through her feelings and nerves, to figure out a time when he’ll be at uni at the same time as Amélie and she’ll be free to tag along. Very casually and randomly, of course, serendipity in the air. The day of, Daphné and Eliott find her sitting at one of the picnic tables close to the student union building reading a stapled clump of paper, a highlighter in hand. Normally Daphné would feel hesitant approaching someone who looks that focused but Eliott doesn't have the same qualms, bounces up to her and steals the highlighter straight out of her hand. Amélie snaps her head up in a glare that quickly melts down to light annoyance. Eliott lets her steal the highlighter back, grinning. Her eyes, Daphné notices, are a very rich brown. They're lovely. Lovely and widening when she catches sight of Daphné, lingering behind Eliott, unsure and a little nervous. She smiles at her and the one she gets back is equally hesitant, but, as far as Daphné can tell, genuine. It's a good start. 

They settle down, and introductions are made, and while Eliott updates them on the irritating software he has to work with that _ lacks all intuition whatsoever what the fuck how do you design software that badly _Daphné glances around and gets snagged. There's a lesbian pride flag pin on Amélie's bag that rests by her feet. Daphné sees it, registers it, and refuses to let herself indulge in the implications. There is, also, a scar on her calf, a long line a few shades lighter than her skin. It looks like it hurt, whatever string of events that gave it to her. 

Amélie catches her staring at it, which is really rude of her, honestly, Daphné knows better than to be so uncouth, but Amélie doesn’t call her out, just smiles vaguely. She must see Daphné’s curiosity, or perhaps she’s just used to explaining, because she shrugs and says, “There was a soccer incident.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” she says, because she’s gotten better at apologising when she’s fucked up, instead of talking around it and making excuses. “It looks… painful.”

Amélie nods again and flexes her calf, the scar pushing up along with the muscle. “It was. Fucking birds, I haven’t trusted one since it happened.” 

“That’s fair. You’d think dinosaurs would be more grateful we let them still hang out with us, instead of, like, cruelly raining down pain on innocents,” she says and it is a much longer sentence than she intended, but Amélie doesn’t look bored, or annoyed, so it’s fine. 

Instead of any of that, she shoots Daphné finger guns. “Exactly. You get it. Eliott, your friend is wise.”

Eliott, who has been mostly silent since his initial conversation, and is drawing on his tablet, snaps to attention and smiles grandly at them both. “She is,” he agrees, and he sounds like he’s telling the truth even though they barely know each other. It’s very generous of him. 

From there conversation comes more naturally, organically, first about their classes and mutual friends and the annoying construction happening that forces a long detour, then more interesting topics. At some point, at Eliott's prompting, they go to one of the better cafés on campus to get some iced tea, sweet and beautifully cold, as heat builds under the clear blue sky (mango for Amélie, raspberry for Daphné, and peach for Eliott). When Amélie brings up the karaoke night when they saw each other, Daphné manages to navigate the topic without blushing or stuttering or making it overly obvious how captivated she was by the girl in front of her. By the time they split apart, after almost two hours together, Daphné has a new appreciation for sport, a plastic cup of half melted ice, and Amélie’s phone number. When Amélie gave it to her, Eliott winked at her from behind Amélie’s back and Daphné had to, once again, fight back a blush. 

* * *

After that it feels like she sees her everywhere, in line to get coffee and in the library and from a distance across the university square, walking with her head bowed low. Later that week they bump into each other between classes and arrange to meet later at the bank of outside tables with power outlets and lots of space and mostly comprehensive shade to study. They spread out their materials, a web of notebooks and stationary and laptops, Amélie with her headphones in and lightly headbanging, and Daphné with her hair tied up out of the way as she goes through flashcards. There's a faint buzzing from insects, and the air smells like espresso, but only a handful of people are outside with them, and the fresh air, coffee stained as it may be, helps keep her head clear to go through notes and formulate essay plans like the responsible dedicated student she definitely is. 

Until her neck starts aching and she uses it as a sign to take a break, replacing practice quizzes with scrolling through Instagram, bored and barely paying attention until she sees Emma's account. It’s a collection of photos from her last party a few days previous, ones Daphné didn't realise we're being taken. She hates seeing photos of herself like this, out of the blue and caught at awkward angles. In one she’s talking, mouth open mid word. It's not like anyone will be paying attention to her specifically, they're all group shots, but still she can't help but wince slightly. So many people will see them. 

"You okay?" Amélie asks, and she breaks away from her phone smiling vaguely.

"Yeah."

"Daphné.” Her voice is very knowing, and Daphné sighs. 

"It’s not that big of a deal, just some photos my friend posted," she says. Amélie still looks curious, though, maybe keen for any reason to take a break, so Daphné gives her the details. 

Amélie scoffs, and for a moment Daphné is afraid she’s about to be accused of being shallow and frivolous and petty and whatever, but instead she says, "Nonsense, you're beautiful."

Daphné smiles automatically, then rolls her eyes and feels her belly fizzle and flutter. "Seriously," Amélie continues, as though the point is important, that Daphné believing her is important. "You're very striking, I thought so from the very first time I saw you. At the karaoke bar, remember?" 

"I remember." A massive understatement, that moment is burned into her memory, the grain of the floor, the lilac dress she wore, the verse she was singing when Amélie caught her eye, mysterious and bright. "I thought the same of you, honestly."

"You think I'm striking?" she asks, and the words are light but there’s a hint of _ something _ in her eyes, in the cadence of how she says it. Her foot starts moving, bouncing, the muscles in her calves shifting along with it.

Daphné bites her lip, but she’s gotten better about being honest, and she can’t imagine any negative consequences for being honest right now, and goes for it. "I did,” she says and watches the words land, how her foot stills. “But the I'd use now is probably marvellous."

Amélie blinks rapidly, blindsided perhaps, but only for a moment, and then Daphné has the pleasure of watching her cheeks go rosy. “Marvellous," Amélie repeats. Her fingers tap out a beat on the wrist of her other hand, just below the gold bracelet she constantly wears. "If I ever make a one woman show, I think that's how I should be introduced."

"The Marvellous Amélie. Sounds like something that should be in black and white."

"Yeah. Maybe it will be."

Daphné scrunches her nose. "You’re going to, what, give everyone glasses that makes them see in a grey scale? Do those exist?" 

Amélie leans back, tilts her head to the side like she’s giving it genuine thought. "If they don't, there's a much simpler solution. Condition of getting a ticket is being colourblind." 

Daphné lets out a small incredulous laugh. "Quite niche. And I don't think that's how colourblindness works."

"You’re a cruel dream crusher.”

"I'll buy you a smoothie."

Amélie ponders that. The afternoon sun cuts across half her face and coaxes the highlights in her hair out of hiding, makes her skin _ glow _, dewy and warm. A girl made for summer and lounging in the sunshine. "I guess that will buy you my forgiveness. And a ticket to my show despite all of the colour you see."

Daphné giggles. "You're so generous."

Amélie winks. "Only for you."

* * *

With two fingers she pastes on a face mask, cold and bright blue, some of it getting into her eyebrows and the wayward pieces of hair too short for her ponytail. Twenty minutes. She has twenty minutes to sit and relax and free herself from obligations and responsibilities. It's not a day she feels the need to stretch it out with painting her nails or doing a hot oil hair treatment. What work she has left to do isn’t particularly difficult or anxiety-procrastination inducing, is all mostly stuff she’s already good at doing or at pretending to be competent with. 

She walks into her tiny kitchen to wash her hands, the tiles cold under her bare feet. There’s a small stack of plates she still needs to wash, the quantity accumulating over what must be days by now, bread crumbs gone stale and remnants of salad dressing creating small pools. But she can do that later. Instead, she checks on the small succulent Lucas gave her a few weeks after the Basile Debacle, sitting on the windowsill and still miraculously alive. She’s oscillated wildly between being overly attentive and leaving it to fend for itself and the combination must have balanced out in her favour, the leaves still dusty purple and healthy, firm under her fingertips. 

Curious, she finds a BuzzFeed video about succulent care, and promptly falls into a black hole, emerging almost an hour later having made her way through a small chunk of their videos and being recommended more, her face mask flaky and craving something sweet. She’s just sat down, face clean, with the intent to finish her work when fate intervenes once again and her phone buzzes with the offer of company and a copy of the movie Amélie insisted she needed to see. Despite the mess of her apartment, it’s not a tough call to make. She promises herself to use the time it’ll take Amélie to arrive to work and that she will definitely finish it tonight, because she refuses to pretend she’ll manage it the following morning. 

Amélie arrives with a grass stained shirt, her backpack swung over one shoulder, and oversized mint green cat eye sunglasses. They camp in the living room, setting up the movie and making a dent in her ice tray for gin and tonics to drink with it. Amélie, having claimed a side of the couch, bows her head in thanks when Daphné delivers her drink with a flourish. 

“Do you have any popcorn?”

The craving for sweets hasn’t diminished since her BuzzFeed binge, and she’s reminded, looking at Amélie’s hands, of the knowledge that while Daphné’s baking skills are pretty mediocre, and she doesn’t enjoy it that much, Amélie is actively great at it and genuinely likes it; her Instagram is scattered with the colourfully decorated sweets she makes in her spare time.

With that in mind, and conscious she’s being, objectively, a bad host, she delays answering the question. “Are you, uh, tired?”

“Not...really.”

“How do you feel about brownies?” 

This time when she answers, her voice is a lot more suspicious, either by the question or by the winning smile Daphné is giving her. “Positively. How do _ you _ feel about them?”

“Positively enough I could have some right now.”

Amélie’s eyebrows are extremely knowing. “I didn’t know you baked.”

Daphné winces but wages forward. “I don’t. _ But _, if you were also in the mood to eat them, I would certainly support that and give you reign over my kitchen to make some. If you so desired, of course,” she says, voice just shy of pleading.

Thankfully Amélie just looks amused, not annoyed. “Is that so?” she asks and Daphné nods but doesn’t add anything more. 

She stands with her hands on her hips and moves them from side to side like she’s warming up to dance. Amélie will cave, she knows it, even the tip of her nose looks ready to acquiesce. Daphné gives her a pleading look and manages to hold it even as the wind blows in through the window and pushes her hair into her eyes. It’s while she’s trying to clear it, her hands shoving it back off her face, that Amélie groans. It’s the very specific sound of someone agreeing to something despite themselves, edged with defeat and annoyance and grim acceptance. Daphné is very familiar with it. She loves it. She doesn’t know why it happened when she was rendered blind by her own hair, what exactly prompted the agreement, but it’s not something she will question. Instead, she grins, wide and grateful, and Amélie is rolling her eyes but she’s smiling back, gracious in defeat.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Uh huh. Do you actually have the supplies for brownies?”

Daphné bites her lip and turns her head in the direction of her kitchen like she has X-Ray vision. “Yes?” she says, clearly a question. Closer inspection proves she does. Barely, but they make it work. 

The movie is okay, but much enhanced by the gooey brownies they demolish as they watch, slumped down close together on the ugly purple couch in her living room, their glasses making rings on the coffee table. 

* * *

_ Amélie 🍹  
_ _ I want to show you something. Are you free tonight? _

_ I am after like 21h? _

_ That’s fine, I won't start until later than that _

_ *You* start? _

_ You know that old bridge near campus?   
_ _ The one with the terrible statues _

_ Near that fro yo place? _

_ Yeah. Meet me there after 22h _

_ Okay. When after 22h though? _

_ Just whenever   
_ _ Maybe before 3am _

_ … Is this going to end with my tragically short life being used as a cautionary tale for children? _

_ Of course not!   
_ _ Do you trust me? _

The unexpected question makes her pause, her fingernails tapping the edge of her phone, but the answer is clear in her mind.

_ Of course _

_ Then I will see you in 7 to 12 hours _

Roughly seven and a half hours later Daphné slips on her shoes, coral coloured converse that have faded and smudged doodles around the sides where Alexia alleviated her boredom on many occasions, and locks the front door behind her. It’s cooler outside, but the heat hasn’t truly broken, the air fresh but not really refreshing, and there’s a good chance she’ll arrive at the bridge a little sweaty despite how close it is to her. 

The amount of people she passes dwindles as she gets nearer, few people want to be in the elements late on a Tuesday night without reason. By the time she passes her favourite fro yo place and spots the misshapen, almost cartoon, statues that sit vigil on the bridge, her back prickles with sweat and she ties her hair up and off her neck. It’s quiet, but not terribly dark, and Daphné looks longingly at the river, filthy and dark but potentially _ cool _ and therefore an improvement on most other things in her life right at this moment. There will be a day, eventually, when she lives in a place with bath large enough to be comfortable that she can fill with frosty water on nights like this. It will happen, and it will be glorious, and Daphné is terribly jealous of her future self’s ability to indulge in such a luxury. As it is, she can only dream about it, absentmindedly pat the ugliest statue, which is supposed to grant good fortune, and almost stumble right onto Amélie, sitting on a blanket with a water bottle, a large sketchbook, and various things Daphné recognises to be Artist Tools. She abruptly stops, almost tripping over herself in an attempt to _ not _trip over Amélie and accidentally squawk as she does so, a high pitched noise that is definitely not a squeal of fright or surprise. 

“Daph!” Amélie says happily, apparently oblivious to almost giving Daphné a heart attack and nearly being trodden on. She pats a clear spot next to her on the blanket. “Here, sit. How are you?”

She does as asked and settles down close, her knee brushing Amélie’s thigh and the scent of her perfume, something smoky and sharp, drifting towards her. “I’m well. And you? What are you, uh, doing?”

“Engaging in the noble practice of creation, obviously. I’m glad you’re here to see it.”

“So am I,” she replies, despite not quite knowing what it is she’d be witnessing. "Is this for class or for you?" Amélie was a criminology major, but Daphné knows she takes art electives when she can. 

"Uh, both. But I guess mostly for class." She pulls the sketchbook closer so Daphné can see it. The piece is only half finished, lines of charcoal composing the promise of a gargoyle. Even incomplete it looks familiar, and Daphné looks up to the statues on the other side of the bridge, the ones in Amélie’s eyeline, and finds the stone counterpart. She doesn’t flip through the pages, but she wouldn’t be surprised to find more such drawings, more monsters. 

Daphné doesn’t really have the vocabulary to talk about art, but she tries. “It’s really cool. I can’t believe I’ve never seen your art before, you’re so good. Are they all like this?”

“Thanks, Daph,” she says quietly, earnestly. “Yeah, I’m doing a series of them, but this one isn’t finished yet.” Daphné’s skin is warm in the spot where their legs are pressed together. It’s too warm, really, for them to be sitting this close, even with the cool air coming off the water, but it’d be rude to move away, right? Right. “When I’ve finished drawing, I smudge them, and it blurs it, kind of. Makes the monster...indistinct.” 

“Indistinct,” Daphné repeats. She tries to picture it, smeared gargoyles, the edges and details blurred, altered into something new, but it’s hard to think of monstrous things while looking into Amélie’s eyes, gleaming under the street lights. “That sounds hard, can I watch?”

“Yeah, if you can stand to wait around?”

“I’ll manage,” Daphné says. “Will I fuck up your focus if I talk?”

Amélie laughs quickly. “Nah. I can’t promise I’ll be the most attentive listener though.”

"That's okay." 

She watches, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, sometimes reading through lecture notes on her phone, as Amélie works on her piece and details grow. It's a quiet area, with lots of tall trees and not a lot of activity at this time of night, the businesses having closed hours previously, the last one being the fro yo place that, Daphné knows, is open until 10pm. Which is a shame, because she could use something sweet right now, and peanut butter frozen yoghurt with cookie and cheesecake toppings would be heaven. She shifts, stretching her legs out and leaning back on her hands. 

“24 hour fro yo places should be a thing.”

Amélie hums. “Maybe they will be in the future. Or in, like, Norway.”

“Norway?”

Amélie doesn’t look away from her sketchbook, makes very precise scrapes with the charcoal. “They were vikings, they appreciated good food and whatever. If not in Norway then maybe Iceland has it figured out.”

Daphné has never been to Iceland, but she would like to quite a bit. She says as much to Amélie, who puts down her sketchbook to look at her properly, which isn’t what Daphné was trying to make happen, but is nice nonetheless. “Same. We should go together, one day.”

“Inspect the state of their dairy industry.”

“Then check out the glaciers. And that elephant rock.”

“The northern lights,” Daphné says wistfully. It’s a night for dreaming of her future, apparently. 

“Which we can enjoy with our premium fro-yo."

Daphné pictures it, the two of them sitting on the roof of a car with little cups of soft serve frozen yoghurt despite the frigid air, huddled together close under a blanket to create a bubble of warmth under the glorious dizzying sky, the shifting magic light. 

“I’m holding you to this,” she says lightly. 

“No worries, Daph. God herself would have to stop me from going with you.” 

* * *

With the prospect of the semester nearly over, and only one intensive and her part time job to keep her busy through the break, Daphné badgers the girls for ideas for a new hobby to occupy her time. Through this crowdsourcing they come up with martial arts, crocheting, and pottery, among others, before Manon suggests finding an instrument to play, and Emma suggests the saxophone. Admittedly, Daphné has never had much interest in jazz music, but she runs with it anyway, finding a second hand one online and finding a YouTube channel dedicated to teaching beginners how to play and read the sheet music. 

It’s a clunky start, and she's dreadful at it, but after two weeks she's slightly less dreadful and it's evolved from frustrating to enjoyable practising finger placement and breathing techniques. As finals roll around it becomes, unexpectedly, quite an effective source of stress relief. The soundproofing in her apartment building is weirdly good, so when the earth ticks into midnight and the early hours of the morning and she can't go outside to run, she plays instead. She still stumbles more than she stands, but she can laugh while she does it now. It's progress. She never used to be okay with being bad at something, would push and polish herself away from failure, but in the midst of exams and papers and the need to succeed, there's relief at having something she can fail at with no stakes, no repercussions. 

* * *

She makes it through finals, and has a few weeks break before her intensive starts. She spends it, mostly, with the girls, and having dinner with her parents on a few occasions, and getting slightly better at her new hobby. But before she knows it she’s back in lecture halls, lugging her laptop around and discussing theory and forcing herself to focus. In a moment of decidedly not focusing, she feels her phone vibrate against her leg, a single buzz that, given it is single, probably isn’t an emergency but she fishes it out of her pocket anyway. The class is interesting, truly, just… not this part of it. The person in front of her has their laptop a split screen of Netflix and lecture notes, the Netflix side noticeably taking up the larger proportion of the screen. From the colour-grading, serious expressions, and grim interior decorating, Daphné would bet it’s a crime drama, potentially Scandanavian. She watches for a few seconds, a beautiful shot of a forest followed by a close up of a woman’s face, resolute in the face of tragedy, her green eyes flinty and devastated. It was a shame Netflix didn’t make their subtitles just that little bit larger so she could read them. She refocuses her attention. In her notifications are a small pile of emails, a reminder from one of the dumb games she loves, and a message from Amélie. 

_ I'm horribly bored. Please tell me you're free _

The message, the notion that in the face of boredom and free time she would turn to Daphné for company, sends a ridiculous thrill through her. She knows it’s ridiculous, because they’re friends, and this is what friends do, and there’s no reason to believe that Daphné is the only person she reached out to, but _ still. _

_ Sorry :( I've got class most of the day _

_ Fuck, I keep forgetting you're one of those high achievers _

_ I keep forgetting you pretend not to be a high achiever…   
_ _ I finish at 16h if you're still bored by then _

_ That's so many hours. I won't be the only one needing entertainment _

Daphné glances up at the lecturer and tunes back into what he’s saying, but it’s still not terribly important. The green eyed woman is now very slowly and precisely cleaning knives at her sink, staring out the window and thinking deep and complicated and harrowing thoughts. Her own computer screen is still asking if she wants to start another game.

_ *I* have sand art games and other people’s Netflix to keep me entertained   
_ _ Here: _ [ _ https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLSmWeUDtr9fDKXL0UDaCEFxkb9fbQEOZH _ ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLSmWeUDtr9fDKXL0UDaCEFxkb9fbQEOZH)

_Fuck_  
_ This is so silly I love it   
Thank you _

By the time Amélie replies her professor has decided to talk about actual relevant interesting content, so she doesn’t send anything back, and doesn’t hear from her again for the following hours she’s in class, but when she finally gets out and starts walking along the path through campus that takes her home, she sees a familiar sight. Amélie, straddling a bench and fucking around on her phone, an arm of her backpack looped around her ankle. There’s a half empty cup of iced tea in front of her, orange with blocks of ice and most likely mango flavoured. 

Not waiting to be spotted, Daphné veers towards her and sits loudly, her water bottle making a loud sound when she drops her bag on the ground. Her laptop has a case, so it’s fine. Amélie immediately straightens up, phone forgotten. In this light, her eyes are warm, flecks of gold made visible in her brown eyes. 

"Still bored?" Daphné asks. 

"Yep," she swirls the cup around and takes a massive sip as if in punctuation. "And you?" 

"Less so now," she answers honestly. "It wasn't that bad, though. I know you think management is awful but I like it.”

Amélie accepts that easily. “I watched all of this years Marblelympics, found a new vegetarian recipe blog, and broke my heart looking through pet adoption sites, so I think you’re probably the winner here.” 

It’s a lot more humid outside than it was when she entered the air conditioned tangle of buildings this morning, now that she’s sitting down to actually feel it, and she takes a gulp of Amélie’s iced tea. Mango, as she expected. She tells her about the class and the Nordic crime drama she spied on and the paper she needs to write, complaining because for some ungodly reason this professor requires them use Harvard referencing, which is obviously inferior to APA. 

Nodding along, Amélie reaches into her bag and pulls out a mandarin, throwing it into the air a couple times before unpeeling it, barely looking down to supervise her hands. She breaks off two pieces and hands one to Daphné, the fruit only a little cooler than the air and giving slightly under her fingertips when she squeezes it, feeling the bump of seeds, the thin rivers of pith that turn its flesh into a mosaic. She bites into it, sweet and lush and full of juice, perfect for a day like this, exactly what she needed to bounce back after a full day of learning and participation. 

Daphné thanks her and gets another piece in return, Amélie taking over the conversation as she enjoys it, talking about the research she’s doing into the historical constructions of deviance, her foot moving to some unknown beat and her hair dancing slightly in the wind, and Daphné knows she should be listening closely, because it sounds genuinely interesting and Amélie clearly cares about it, but. Well. Mandarin juice glistens on her lips, turning them shiny and, Daphné imagines, sticky, citrus clinging to her mouth. She might be able to taste it, if they kissed. She could lick it off, help herself to it's sweetness until the juice is gone and all that’s left is Amélie, the lingering drag of her lips, the butterfly pressure of her clever hands. 

“Daph?”

Daphné widens her eyes and quickly lifts them to meet her gaze. She knows she’s blushing, can feel the light heat in her cheeks at being caught looking at Amélie’s lips for who knows how long. She clears her throat. 

“Yes?”

Amélie’s eyes are bright, and darting around her face. And. Oh. She’s blushing too, a little, a hint of red in her cheeks. Of course, that might just be the heat. They’re in the shade, but the air is still full of warmth where it sits on her skin. 

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

“Not really. Do you want to…” she trails off to let Amélie fill in the blank. Her heart is, perhaps, beating a little faster than normal. 

“Go get dinner? I found a Thai place a few weeks ago, the pad see ew was so good I dreamt about it.”

“Do you think it also dreamt of you?”

Amélie nods. “Vividly, and perhaps prophetically.”

Daphné nods back, matching her formality. “I’ve often heard that broccoli knows far more than it lets on.”

“It’s leaves are full of secrets,” she says, voice lowered into a half whisper. "Rumours have it the tofu has done time for espionage."

"Likely a nicer crime than whatever the chicken is guilty of. You're smart to stay away from it."

"I'm always smart."

Privately Daphné agrees. When she voices this, Amélie tilts her neck back and looks heavenward, pleading to the Gods, or the sky, or the cloud that looks a little bit like a seahorse. Pleading what, she doesn’t know. "You're terrible. Lovely and terrible. So you're keen on dinner?" 

"Yes, but," Daphné leans down and tugs on the strap of her bag. “I’ll need to go home first, to drop this off. If you don’t want to wait I can meet -”

“Can I come with you?” she interrupts, her voice approaching excited. A leaf flutters down and lands in the end of her hair, small and green and the same colour as Daphné’s nail polish. 

“Yes,” she answers helplessly. 

Amélie gifts her with a sharp grin. “Fantastic. I have thoughts about your saxophone and I want to see if I’m right.”

* * *

The thoughts turn out to be, _ I played the flute when I was younger, the sax can’t be that much different right? _Wrong. Hilariously and delightfully and headache inducingly wrong. In a moment of mercy she lets Daphné show her how to properly play it, not that she herself is particularly good at it yet, and they get to a point where Daphné stops cringing when Amélie plays. Caught up as they are, time unravelling quickly as they laugh and tease each other and go internet dumpster diving to find a copy of an indie movie so Amélie can show her an incredible opera scene in it, they get to dinner late, and subsequently get dessert late, munching on beautifully baked small fruit tarts as they walk around in the balmy lively night, and it's almost midnight by the time she gets home again, sending a message to tell Amélie she got home safe and waiting for one in return. 

* * *

Daphné doesn't know when it happened exactly, when casual conversation became frequently meeting up for lunch and study dates and movie nights, doesn't know where this uncomplicated comfort came from, but two months after they first met it’s a rare week that they don’t see each other at least twice, her phone is full of new music and silly photos and long threads of conversations both serious and inane. It’s _ good _ , another positive thing in a string of months that have been suspiciously kind to her. She makes her feel relaxed and like she doesn't need to be so vigilant, be so awfully conscious of how she speaks and acts. It's amazing how much her life has changed, the version of her that was _ this close _to moving in with Basile still in her peripheral but faded. 

* * *

Alexia’s friend is throwing a new year in the summer party and she doesn’t think twice before agreeing to go. The whole crew is going, along with a handful of other friends she's made through uni, and Amélie, who actually knows the host and is taking all of her friends. So, they won't be attached together all night or anything, but it's nice. She spends maybe too long choosing what clothes to wear, something that won’t leave her overheated and gross (well, not ‘maybe’, according to Alexia and Emma who are with her as she gets ready, Alexia in an eclectic, fabulous dress she’d found in a thrift store because she has a magic sense, and Emma in old jeans and a shirt Daphné is pretty sure Alexandre owned at one point because the tomboy phase she went through in high school stuck). The final involves a lot of pink and a ribbon of her stomach visible below her crop top. It is, technically, the crop top Amélie specifically complimented the last time she wore it, reaching out to scrunch the material between her fingers while doing so and making Daphné’s veins fill with nervous bubbles as she babbled about where she found it.

When they fall through the door, a faintly familiar girl with close shaven hair, a gold hat celebrating 2019, and sequined Dr Martens pushes a plastic cup of skittles flavoured vodka into her hand, hugs Emma and pushes a cup into _ her _hand, then encourages them further into the house. There's loud music and a buffet of drinks in the kitchen and, blessed of all, air conditioning to constrict the heat produced by so many moving bodies in a limited space. It isn't terribly busy yet, and they find some space to stand and talk for a while, until they eventually split up, seduced by dancing or getting more drinks or flirting with strangers. All of which would be preferable to where Daphné lands, stuck talking to a guy who makes it his mission to teach her about bitcoin. Fucking bitcoin. At least if he was some cinema guy she would know enough to speed up the educational journey a bit, but as it is she splits her focus between him and scanning the crowd behind him, an artificially pleasant smile forced onto her expression. It's definitely not the way she wanted this night to go, but it'd be so much easier if she could claim someone at the party to move on to. If she doesn't see someone soon she's doing to have to invent a person, because, really, if she ever feels the need to know about blockchain software, she'll be damned if she learns about it from this guy. Yahoo Answers would be a better alternative. 

Thankfully, just as she's preparing to feign spotting her friend who needs her right now immediately, an actual familiar face shows up. Leaning against a wall, surveying the crowd with a few friends, is Amélie. Who is, frankly, her saving grace. She's wearing a white shirt that falls off her shoulder, her usual cluster of bangles, and a high waisted skirt, dark red and subtlety patterned and short, showing off most of her legs. Daphné can’t help the way her eyes linger on them, the long strong lines of muscle, the warm hue of her skin. God, her _ thighs. _It wasn't enough that she was funny and kind and clever and indulgent, no, she was gorgeous too. Gorgeous and athletic and lighting up when she catches sight of Daphné from across the room. It’s a lot to process. 

Daphné makes her excuses to the guy, nondescript to the point she doubts she'll remember his face by the end of the night, and goes to Amélie. When they hug, she is briefly encompassed in her usual dark perfume, and she imagines notes of it lingering on her skin, mixing with her own perfume. Daphné almost doesn't notice her friends peeling off. The redhead, Juliette, throwing Amélie a Look as she goes and Amélie sending one back. Daphné doesn't know how to read it, and knows it isn't her place to anyway, so she ignores it. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Amélie grins. “Ready for 2019?”

“I think it’ll be a good one,” she says, and curls her hand around Amélie’s wrist to pull her back back back to the centre of the room. They dance, spinning and laughing, and Daphné falls into a tipsy Emma, herself dancing with Alexandre, who kisses her on the cheek and twirls her back. It’s fun and ridiculous, people wearing party hats and glasses from New Year parties from the previous decade or so. 

When they stop, dizzy and needing something approaching fresh air, the amount of people milling around has increased, or maybe they’re just louder and bouncier with alcohol and energy, and the increased noise makes it hard to have an actual conversation, so, in a mutual decision, they move to another room, landing next to a bookcase and somewhat sheltered from the worst of the noise. 

There’s gold glitter on the bridge of Amélie’s nose and along her cheeks, and it starts twinkling as she tells Daphné about the most recent of the fortnightly dates she sets up with her younger siblings, a laser tag place that played this exact song (a fast chaotic beat Daphné doesn’t recognise) as she was murdered by her brother. The thought of Amélie being the big sister of her family is terribly endearing, and Daphné smiles helplessly at the images that roll through her head, the cozy warm feelings that accompany them. 

“What are you smiling at?” Amélie asks, leaning forward as if to inspect said smile.

“Oh, just,” _ you, _“nothing. I’d like to see your victory dance.”

“Hmm. We’ll go one day, just us, and you’ll see it then.”

“Confident,” Daphné declares.

“Damn straight. You’ll see, I’ll…”

The countdown starts around them suddenly and Amélie's speech falters, stumbles, before picking it up again. Daphné can't help but notice her restless eyes, how they flick downwards towards Daphné’s mouth every so often. It distracts her, draws her attention away from what they're talking about and when Amélie falls quiet she futilely scrambles for something relevant to say, but Amélie is standing very close and her perfume is familiar and intoxicating and she _ is looking at Daphné ’s lips _ with wistful eyes. Daphné is not brave, has never been known for her courage, but the countdown dwindles ( _ 10...9...8) _ and, maybe, she can be brave just this once. 

Cautiously, so Amélie can stop her if she wants (or, rather, doesn't want) she curls her hand around her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek, and smiles. She means to wait until zero, she really does, but Amélie wets her bottom lip, immediately drawing Daphné’s eye, and she can't wait. She leans forward, they both lean forward, and their lips brush together on three. Carefully, tentatively, a chaste brush that, regardless, sends tingles down her spine. Daphné leans back to see if this is okay, if Amélie wants this, if she's misread the situation so awfully she's doing to have to change her name, but Amélie doesn't let her get far. Instead, she winds an arm around Daphné’s neck and draws her in to kiss her again, kiss her properly. And she's too happy to smile, too happy to do anything but press closer, sweep her fingertips against the soft skin behind her ears, to sink into the velvety, tingling, sparkling feeling taking over her body, her mind, thoughts sliding down down down and away. 

* * *

She wakes up alone the next morning, her sheet half fallen off her bed and sunlight falling over half her face, making her squint even as she keeps her eyes closed. She wakes up alone, but with a clutter of messages on her phone, and an hour later she sits in a cafe close to her house, two glasses in front of her. Iced tea, black with lemon and basil and crowded with ice. Amélie is already half finished because Daphné is talking too much to drink hers. 

"And assuming you survive the initial fallout from the pandemic, you need to find a vet, and a farmer, and a builder or construction worker. And maybe an electrician. And then you'd have an okay chance, assuming there aren't, like, bandits roaming around killing people for their supplies."

"I don't know," Amélie says dubiously. "Sounds like a lot of work, not to mention chance."

"Okay, so what's your plan? To make it easier, let's say you don't contract whatever disease it is."

She shrugs. "Easy, I'll escape to Iceland with my girlfriend and learn how to hunt."

Daphné gapes in outrage and endearment. "That's cheating. You're trying to distract me."

"Is it?" Amélie asks, and, appallingly, takes Daphné’s hand and kisses her palm like a chivalrous romantic hero. Even more appallingly, Daphné melts on the spot, her heart a soupy mushy mess. 

It's still cheating, but she's happy so she'll allow it. 

She’s happy. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> i'm on tumblr [ here ](https://without-tenderness.tumblr.com)


End file.
